


Gates of Tevinter: Red Wing Keep

by Ads1337



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-08
Updated: 2017-03-09
Packaged: 2018-10-01 03:44:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10179947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ads1337/pseuds/Ads1337
Summary: Unfinished! Timeline before and during events of DA:I. Original characters with a few mentions of main characters. Based in the Antiva / Tevinter border and Deeproads. Trying to write this in the vein of 'Last Flight' and 'Masked Empire' and in a way that is compatible with any players choices and does not give away major plot from other media.  Followed lore to the best of my knowledge and filled in the blanks if lore is not yet available.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Please feel free to comment on ANYTHING. If I have made any lore errors, if a character is too one dimensional, if the plot is too predictable or generic or if I have written 'their' instead of 'there' or you just don't like they way I write; don't worry about making me feel bad, I'm a grown up and can take it!
> 
> In an ideal world; Patrick Weekes will read this, love it and contact me, and after a few pokes in the right direction, publish it as canon. Maybe we could even talk about Ghylspwr.  
> I have seen other people write stuff like: 'I don't own the rights to Dragon Age' etc. So can any legal persons reading this please be aware this is my first piece of literature for IP that does not belong to me and I don't quite know the rules and treat this as such? 
> 
> -Ads

The mid-day sun bore down on the Antivan sea port town of Treviso. Ana took another sip of her coffee and leant back, basking in the warm rays; her skin had long turned a nice crisp brown. The café was busiest this time of day, visiting merchants and locals alike flocked to the busy central plaza for a small break or retreat from the heat; and this café was a favoured destination as it had the widest selection of locally sourced beans in the town. She had chosen the café precisely _because_ it was the busiest. No one would notice her in the bustle of people.

She may have looked like she was just enjoying some time off, sharing a moment with just herself and a good coffee, oblivious to the world around her; but she took everything in. She knew how many people were inside the café, how many outside, how many in the kitchen, how many entering and leaving the plaza; and who was armed and where the guards were. But most importantly, she was watching out for Crows.

If they were anywhere as good as her, she wouldn’t spot them; but it was the inexperienced ones she was watching out for. They were the ones that stood out, the ones that got you caught. She had worked too hard to let someone else mess things up for her. She made out a commotion from one side of the plaza, moments before everyone else, pressing her cup to her mouth and feigning ignorance as a few heads turned in the direction. A young, shirtless elven boy, no more than eight, ran through the crowded space with a loaf of bread beneath each arm, followed noisily by three exhausted guards. That was the distraction. Glancing in the other direction, in the corner of her eye, she caught another elven boy, slightly older, walking briskly and determinedly in a straight line towards her table; trying desperately to blend in and failing. His right hand was clenched, hiding something. He was twenty paces away. Timing was everything. She took another sip from the now mostly cold drink. Fifteen paces. Lowering the cup slowly, she gently nudged the small spoon to the edge of the table and let it fall. Ten paces. She pushed her chair back, knelt under the table, reached for the spoon with her right hand while discreetly half drawing her dagger with her left. She didn’t want the boy to give her up, she also didn’t know what the boy was up to; was he a messenger or was he working for a rival? What was he holding onto? A knife?

Two small and dusty shoeless feet pattered past. Glancing up she saw the boy had open palms as he disappeared into the crowd. He wouldn’t last long in the Crows she thought to herself.

Once she returned to her seat she noticed a small slip of paper next to her cold coffee; folded, crumpled and slightly damp. She placed the spoon down, swapped it for the paper and when she was satisfied she wasn’t being watched she left for somewhere less occupied.

She entered a small bookshop. The sort of book shop where the bookkeeper tried to avoid eye contact at all costs in case someone actually felt obliged to buy a book. The Book keeper stood at the counter hunched over a large tome. Picking one off a shelf and opening it to a random page, she concealed the small sheet inside as she unfolded it. It simply read:

 

                _Agnesto Del’toro_

_Pride of Salle_

_Hotel Zédel_

Finally, a hit. She had trained her whole life for this moment, having being sold to the Crows before she had learned to walk. She crumpled the paper up, kicked it under the bookshelf and placed the book back. She made a point of looking at a few more books, while actually checking she had not been followed, thanked the bookkeeper, who responded with a vague grunt, and left for the Hotel Zédel.

 

###

 

Aaron and Daithi emerged from the deck of the ‘Pride of Salle’, shielding their eyes from the unforgiving sun. Daithi muttered some kind of Dalish curse, Aaron picked up the words ‘Elgara’ and ‘Elgar’nan’.

                ‘I thought you spent your whole life outside in the sun?’ Aaron said, poking fun at the elf.

                ‘Under the shade of trees, sure! Not this damn thing. Come on, let’s go find some shade’.

                ‘Ah, you’re hungover, aren’t you; you should know by now you can’t keep up with the rest of us.’

                ‘It’s not that, it’s… I’m sure that dwarf cheats.’

                ‘And the rest of them; a ship full of merchants, mercenaries and Antivans. I’m half expecting to find our staves in a shop window every morning.’

They both headed down the bridge into the busy port. It was a hive of activity, workers hauling crates from ships onto karts and fishermen wrestling with nets full of the mornings catch.

                ‘Who are we supposed to be meeting again?’ asked Daithi, clearly not paying attention to the conversation inside the cabin.

                ‘I don’t know; some contact. They didn’t want to risk “us mages” causing a scene with the guard, apparently, so the captain gave us some bullshit task. She probably wants us to fetch some pointless object or something’

                ‘It’s a bit odd, don’t you think? The whole thing. Why would a ship captain with a well-armed crew hire a mercenary company? They expecting trouble or something? What do you think they’re transporting? The crew were very keen to keep us out of the lower decks. It all seems a bit dodgy if you ask me’

                ‘That’s way too many questions for this early in the morning’

                ‘It’s mid-day! Can’t you tell by this damn sun?’

                ‘Right. Look, I don’t really care. I follow the captain, get paid, and move onto the next job. Hopefully one that’s not on a boat next time, but I’m not choosy.

                ‘That’s your problem, Aaron. You’d have thought with your fancy circle tower education you’d be more inquisitive, did they not promote the ideals of questioning the status-quo, debate and all that?

                ‘They did, Yes. Then I saw where that gets you. A senior enchanter flips out and gets possessed, the circle goes to crap, and now this Mage-Templar war. I don’t even know what the deal was with Kirkwall. Look, people just don’t like it when mages get ideas that differ from the mainstream. Come on, you know this!’

                ‘Aye, I do. I suppose I can get away with it though; must be my Dalish charm’

                ‘Pfft… whatever’

They pressed through the throng of people and after a while they eventually entered what looked like an abandoned warehouse.

                ‘Feels a bit… ominous, don’t you think?’ asked the elf, peering into the darkest corners

                ‘This is where she said. We must be early.’

                ‘Gee, you reckon?’ replied Diathi sarcastically ‘Pray, what gave that away?’

                ‘Ass…’ Aaron muttered, unconvincingly. ‘Let’s wait around for a bit, see who turns up. If no one shows, we leave. Captain will understand.’

                ‘Ten minutes. Not a moment longer. Place gives me the willies.’

                ‘I thought you would appreciate the shade’ Aaron said after a brief silence

                ‘Oh, shut it, you!’

                ‘Shhh… I can hear someone coming…’

 

###

 

The Hotel was in the more affluent part of town. In her simple but stylish white corseted blouse and tight black leggings she easily blended in with the others in the area. Before reaching the steps leading up to the hotel she heard the sound of fighting, a common occurrence in the port towns of Antiva. A couple of guards rushed past her towards the noise as she ascended. Unsure if this was another distraction, she risked a quick glance. The guards had pinned down and surrounded a particularly dishevelled looking elf, who was flailing about wildly. Also on the floor were three injured, well-armed men; they wore what looked like standard issue Tevinter militant armour but had no heraldry. Mercenaries? Bounty hunters maybe? Two more, un-injured militants were arguing with the guards, presumably over who had custody of the elf. This clearly wasn’t for her benefit, but she could use it all the same. She finished up the stairs, navigated through the busy lobby, many distracted by the scene outside; and headed straight for the kitchens. No one stopped her; they barely noticed her. She pulled off her headscarf and let her shoulder length, wavy black hair gently bounce back to their natural position and with quick movements unfolded it and draped it over her left arm and headed for the wine racks, where she commandeered a tray, three glasses and an expensive bottle of Antivan red. No one took any notice, too busy with their own jobs.

The ‘Pride of Salle’ was a merchant vessel, one of the larger ones; and though it wasn’t common knowledge, those who specialised in un-common knowledge widely knew the ‘Pride of Salle’ made a tidy profit smuggling slaves. She assumed Agnesto Del’toro must be the captain, and someone who disliked slavery must have found out and paid the Crows to ensure an end to the enterprise. There was only one place in Hotel Zédel where a wealthy slave merchant celebrating a successful cargo drop would go. She headed straight for the ambassador suite. She scaled two flights of stairs, turned a corner, and a short, thick moustached man with an oversized black bowtie blocked her path.

                ‘Stop’ he called softly ‘Uh uh…’ he muttered, almost to himself, and reached out his right arm towards her.

                ‘I’m going..’ she started, frozen in place.

He straightened her collar, pushed a few strands of her hair from in front of her face, and then,

                ‘Go’. He then proceeded to walk past her and hurried down the stairs.

Breathing a sigh of relief, she pulled a small glass vial from one of her concealed pockets and slid it up her blouse sleeve and then continued towards the ambassador’s suite. At the end of the corridor two guards leaning on long spears, unpractical for indoors use, stood either side of the closed doors of the main suite and without hesitating she immediately barged into one of the smaller side rooms, unwilling to fight her way in.

Four well-dressed men ceased their conversations and as one turned to see who had entered their private room. They were seated round a semi-circular, well-padded sofa with a small table, piled with an elaborate tapas of shellfish, meats, fruit, and of course wine.

                ‘Erm… did you order a…’ she glanced at the bottle ‘Antiva red, Seleny 8:11?’

Three of them turned to the man sitting in the middle, the youngest and most handsome of the group, who smiled broadly.

                ‘Is it expensive?’ he asked with an almost boyish charm

                ‘Um… very. I can leave and get a cheaper one if’ she was suddenly very eager to be anywhere but here, there was something about the way he was looking at her that made her uncomfortable.

                ‘No. That’s good, we’ll have it. Please.’ He gestured towards the table.

She carefully walked towards the table and started clearing a space for the tray, eyeing every detail of the room cautiously.

                ‘The boys and I are celebrating, you see’ he continued.

                ‘Oh?’ she added, absently. Placing the tray on the table and taking half a step back.

                ‘Yes, I have made a _lot_ of money today; and I am feeling _very_ generous. Please, why don’t you join us; I always find it best to celebrate with good wine and beautiful women, don’t you agree?’

This couldn’t be her target, could it? She thought to herself. She needed to find out who these people were. It was time to stop being a serving girl and time to become a woman. Well, the sort of woman that accepts offers of drinks from wealthy older men anyway.

                ‘Oh…’ she blushed and looked down at her feet ‘I shouldn’t. We are, really, quite busy, and…’ she looked up and making her eyes as wide a possible caught his. She added a slight smile just in case he didn’t get the hint. He did.

                ‘I am sure they can manage without an… _extra_ waitress, surely?’

She laughed. Damn it, too forced; but he didn’t seem to notice, or was he being polite and pretended not to? Need to calm it down, no more mistakes.

                ‘Well, if your fiends don’t mind, I _am_ due to take my break shortly’

                ‘I’m sure’. It sounded like he disbelieved her comment rather than permitting her to stay, or was she reading too much into his voice ‘Ricardo, why don’t you inform our client we will be finishing on time, eh?’

                ‘Of course, captain’ replied the man sitting beside him.

The captain gestured to the space beside him as the man that was in the space stood and left the room. She sat, making sure she had the space to jump up should things elevate.

                ‘So’ she picked up the bottle and gestured for the glasses ‘what are we celebrating? Other than making money, of course. Do merchants often celebrate like this, how very exciting’

                ‘I never said we were merchants’ the captain replied playfully. The other two men chuckled.

                ‘So, tell me, Captain…’

                ‘Del’toro’ he added helpfully, ‘Captain Del’toro’ his smile turning wicked. The others bristled.

She made a big show of removing the cork from the bottle, to disguise the movement of removing the one from the small vial which was now pinched between the bottle and her palm. She giggled at the pop the bottle made, their faces started to grow cold. This was defiantly the target, but something was very wrong. She needed to end this quickly. She started pouring the drinks.

                ‘Captain Del’toro, what is it you do then?’

                ‘I am into all sorts; I find it best not to limit oneself to a single trade these days.’

                ‘Go on…’

                ‘Well, I mainly locate what my client’s desire.’

                ‘And these clients of yours…’ She passed over a glass with about half the contents of the vial, disappointed as Del’toro immediately passed the glass to the next man. 

                ‘Ah, now you’re asking the right questions. I have clients in high places and clients in very _low_ places. So low, even, you could say they are in the shadows.’

                ‘Ooh.. .exciting, but that sounds a little _too_ exciting for me, what about those high places clients?’ She poured the next glass, trying to make sure the contents of the vial could go three ways.

                ‘You’re in luck; this is one of those clients, Guard-Captain Cano.’ He gestured to the man next to him. ‘And you should know my other client’ the man furthest her reached out for a glass.

                ‘Oh, should I?’ she passed him the glass, and saw a tattoo on his wrist, hidden under his sleeve, a tattoo that looked like a bird’s talon clutching a bloody heart. She froze, aware too late of the terrible trap she was in.

                ‘Of course, Ana, how could you not recognise one of your own?’

The next few heartbeats were chaos. The outstretched hand grabbed her wrist, twisted her arm round painfully, launching the glass to the far wall, and pulled her hard onto the table. The crash of broken glass and scattered dishes filled the room. She dropped the bottle and vial in her left arm and reached down to her side to pull out her dagger but the Guard-Captain reached her arm first and together they turned her round, back against the table. She managed to boot Del’toro hard in the face as he tried to grab her legs but she couldn’t make anything out of it. As she struggled against the three men the fourth returned with the two guards. She knew it was over.

                ‘What are you doing!’ she managed to scream between short breaths.

                ‘It looks to me like we like we are foiling an assassination attempt’ replied Guard-Captain Cano

                ‘You know how it is, Ana, this is just business.’ added Del’toro.

                ‘What? Setting traps for little girls?’

                ‘You weren’t a little girl five minutes ago. No. This is important, Ana, for the good of Antiva. We cannot allow the people to think that the Crows and the merchants actually have free run of the country, even if they joke about it at times; even if we know better. Can you imagine the chaos that would spread if the commoners discovered the truth, once the veil was lifted? It is known the nobility would rather us out of the way, they would feel emboldened with common support; and once we are routed out Antiva would be no better than a Marcher state, ripe for plucking by either the desperate Tevinter or the greedy Qunari. There is a delicate balance between what is and what is perceived to be; and sometimes a sacrifice needs to be made to keep that balance in check, sometimes a merchant prince needs to borrow too greedily and be exposed, sometimes a Crow needs to get too ambitious and be caught. Sometimes someone needs to be made an example of. Today, that someone is you.'

                ‘You know the penalty for failure’ added the older Crow

                ‘It’s not failure when it’s a trap! Not when it’s set by your own people!’

                ‘And if you were truly a good Crow,’ replied Del’toro ‘you would have known it was a trap, you would have been able to fly away, or maybe even complete the contract. But you did neither of these, you got yourself caught.’

                ‘You are no longer one of “our people”’, added the older Crow ‘you’re life is forfeit’.     

 

###

 

The small house the Templars had rented was a dump; all bar one window was smashed, the floor was covered in grime and no one wanted to use the filthy kitchen table, not even to clean their gear. To make matters worse there was barely enough space for them to sleep, let alone to store all their equipment. Ser Liam Price, Knight-Lieutenant of the Templar order of Kirkwall walked up to the table where his superior, Knight-Captain Ford, was studying a rough map of the dock area.

                ‘You think he will honour his part of the deal?’ Price asked, breaking Fords concentration.

                ‘Hmm?... Yeah, of course he will. He’s Antivan; I bet his knees went soft when he got a whiff of our gold. For two hundred sovereigns a head I reckon he would tell us his own mother was an apostate.’

                ‘I just don’t trust him, or any of them. My old man always said there are two things you can’t trust; mages and Antivans.’

                ‘Your father was a wise man.’

                ‘Didn’t stop him getting killed though’ price replied bitterly.

                ‘He was a good Templar, your father. Good man, good leader; lousy swordsman though. We can’t all be perfect’

                ‘So tell me, how do _you_ manage it, sir?’ Price joked

                ‘You should know kissing my ass won’t get you that promotion son.’

                ‘What? Promotion? Then I’d have to do the same job as you; with all that paperwork? No thanks. No wage increase can take me off the beat.’

After sharing a brief laugh together they both returned to the map.

                ‘What I don’t get’ said Price after studying the locations of some of the potential sites he had been shown the day before ‘is why we don’t just storm the ship; catch them unaware. No guards, no civilians. We know where they are, let’s get this over with and head home.’

                ‘Politics’ Ford replied with a deep sigh ‘Antivan Politics. You don’t kill a man’s dog after he invites you in for a meal; you enjoy the meagre scraps he feeds you, stroke the rabid mutt, compliment his shitty paintings and leave, telling everyone how great a host he was. That’s how you get invited to more crappy parties.’

                ‘Are you still speaking in metaphors here sir, or is this personal experience?’

                ‘Look, Agnesto could run this whole town for all we know. He certainly runs a tight ship… ahem, no pun intended. Besides, do you _want_ to find out what else could be on that ship? I can guarantee you there are things not mentioned on the manifest. Plus we would have to fight the other mercenaries and possibly his crew. He might not take kindly to that; the last thing I want is to have a Crow shove a knife in my back when I’m feeling nice and safe back in Kirkwall.’

They both thought about the Crows for a moment. They both wished they hadn’t.

                ‘Let’s just kill these mercs and catch the next ship to Kirkwall.’ said Ford breaking the silence.

                ‘Couldn’t agree more, sir. I’ll be outside waiting for our contact.’

Price stood just inside the doorway; it was too warm outside in the sun. Who was he kidding, it was hot everywhere, especially under all his armour. He started daydreaming about how he ended up in Treviso. They had been going through the last of the phylacteries from Kirkwall and one had taken them as far as Rivain; it was a long way for eight Templars to travel for the sake of one mage, but they got the job done. It was the journey back that cost them three men, hounded all the way to the Antivan border by barbaric, demon worshiping Rivainis. If there wasn’t a rebellion to put down he would demand an exalted march to the cursed place; and not to hunt Qunari this time. Well, it wouldn’t hurt if they did while they were at it; they deserved what was coming to them too after what they had done in Kirkwall. Price was so much in thought he didn’t see the messenger boy approach until he stood expectantly in front of him. He snatched the letter from him and shoed the boy away.

 

                _Dear Knight-Captain Ford_

_I thank you for your most generous donation, those funds will go far towards the renovation of the chantry here in Treviso; which is so poorly dilapidated I can only imagine the terrible uncomfort refugees fleeing this unjust war must have to endure. I can only pray that word of our troubles reach further south and Andraste guides more champions of the just to our shores to do the makers will. I have arranged a meet with our mutual friends in a warehouse just north of the docks at around mid-day, your Knight-Lieutenant should be able to direct you to the place._

_May the maker ever guide your path,_

_Agnesto Del’toro_

 

Well, that’s the fanciest way of saying “Thank you for your money, the apostates are here” he had ever read. They didn’t have much time, mid-day was almost upon them. He returned inside and handed the letter to his captain. Before long five seasoned mage hunters were marching through the docks towards two unsuspecting apostates. Often it was the simplest of things in life that made it so great.

The Templars surveyed the building, found two entrances then made their way in. Price, with the other hunter, Martell, snuck round the back entrance while Ford, Sacoby and Henleigh, the heavier armoured and shielded Knights, took the main entrance.

                ‘Shhh… I can hear someone coming…’ said one of the mages. Human, male, his accent made him Ferelden. He carried a very ornate staff with a damaged, curved blade on the bottom.

                ‘I don’t like this, let’s get out of here, eh?’ said the other. Elven, male, Dalish accent; he could never tell the difference between the different clans, they all sounded the same to him. His staff was nothing more than a gnarled stick.

                ‘Planning on going somewhere?’ announced Knight-Captain Ford as he drew his sword and shield. ‘Maleficar are not welcome anywhere in Thedas. Surrender yourselves; or don’t, I couldn’t care either way.’

                ‘There’s only three of ‘em’ said the elf hopefully ‘we can take ‘em and make a break for it’

                ‘Five’ replied the human who had turned to notice Price and Martell covering behind. ‘That’s five _Templars!_ I hate to say it, but we are totally out manned here. We can’t fight our way out, not this time.’

                ‘Fenedhis lasa! How did they find us?’ the elf moaned to his companion

                ‘You think you would go unnoticed in a town like this?’ responded the captain

                ‘The fuckin’ captain sold us out, didn’t she?’

                ‘We don’t know that.’ Replied the Ferendan

                ‘Hah! So naïve! The elf’s right. I hear business isn’t what it used to be, mages causing trouble in mercenary companies all over; best to cut her losses while she can. Luckily for her we were in the neighbourhood.’

                ‘Does that mean we’re not getting paid?’ grumbled the Ferendan. He threw his staff to the ground. ‘Now _that’s_ bullshit!’

                ‘Forget this!’ the elf concluded. He turned round and ran straight towards Price and Martell. He swung his staff towards them and muttered something, summoning a spell; Price dashed towards him, a blade in his left hand, his right bare and outstretched. A bright blue white flash lit the whole room, emanating from the space between them. The Fereldan shouted out for the Elf to stop as he was tackled to the ground by Henleigh. The elf froze in place, dumbfounded, as all the ambient magic in the room dissipated and in the place where a solid wall of ice should have been, came a Templars bladed fist. He was dead before he hit the floor.

                ‘So… what do we do with you, eh?’ toyed Knight-Captain Ford, pressing his sword against the Fereldan mages throat ‘You didn’t resist, true; but maybe you should have.’

                ‘Henleigh still hasn’t got the hang of a concentrated righteous strike, sir. I’m sure we can tie him up and let her have a few attempts’ added Price.

                ‘That’s right, sir’ said Henleigh ‘it don’t even fizzle or nothin’.’

                ‘Ohh Makers breath, Henleigh! No!’ sighed Ford heavily and pinched the bridge of his nose, she really was the worst recruit he had ever had the displeasure of training, they would let just about anyone in these days ‘It’s a state of mind; mental equilibrium. You can’t just stab someone a few times and hope it comes to you.’

That really upset Henleigh. The rest couldn’t contain their laughter. The laughter was cut off by the sound of heavy boots as a dozen armed guards marched into the warehouse.

                ‘This is Templar business!’ announced Knight-Captain Ford ‘all necessary arrangements have been taken care of. Let us take care if this miscreant and we will be on our way.’

                ‘Notice how he didn’t say “official Templar business”?’ pointed out one of the guards, the only one that didn’t have a weapon drawn ‘That’s because there is, officially, no Templar order. Not anymore. Disbanded; or so I hear. So, what is this then?’

                ‘An unlicensed private militia, sir!’ replied a guard

                ‘That’s right. We cannot allow just anyone to walk the streets, armed, to do so as they please’

                ‘We have made a… contribution, to Captain Del’toro, who assured me’

                ‘The last time I checked’ interrupted the guard ‘Del’toro was not captain of the guard; nor is he ever likely to be. Now, _I_ can assure _you,_ that no matter how much influence someone may have over the guard, they will never be in the position to tell a guard not to do his job, especially not this guard’

The Templars looked expectantly to their captain. This wasn’t how they envisioned their afternoon ending. They definitely didn’t fancy fighting their way out of another country. They _would_ , of course, but they would be openly unhappy about it.

                ‘Hey! Yeah, down here!’ Yelled the mage, still lying on the floor ‘So, does this mean I can just scoot on out of here and leave you guys to sort out things between you? I mean, I do have a busy schedule and’

                ‘Silence, you! Right, look; I think we’ve got off on the wrong foot.’ said Ford with a forced calm ‘I am, like you, just trying to do my job. I am sure we can come to some sort of… arrangement? We have enough silver to’

                ‘Are you trying to bribe me?’ The guard sounded like he was actually offended and not feigning it. Great, what were the chances of finding the only honest man in the whole of Antiva.

                ‘I am going to give you one chance to leave, Ser Knight, If you are still in this town come nightfall, I cannot promise I will remain as hospitable’

A threat, now they had no choice but to fight their way out thought Price as he went for his second blade.

                ‘OK, Fine! Take him. We got what we came for.’ replied Ford ‘Men, move!’

What? Thought Price. That’s not the Knight-Captain he knew. Something else was going on that he didn’t get. He sheathed his blade and left with the others. He just managed to make out as he was leaving

                ‘Thank you, I’m sure they were going to kill me there’

                ‘Don’t know why you’d want to thank us, we’ve been told to take you to the cells.’

               

###

 

The prison was on the south part of the town by the sea, just where the cliffs started to form. Two armed men walked into the main entrance and placed their weapons on the counter. They were clearly not locals, it wasn’t the clothes, the equipment or the skin tone that gave it away; but the way they walked. They were probably the only two people in the town that didn’t feel afraid about being there; that didn’t fear anyone sneaking up on them, pick-pocketing them or worried about offending the wrong person. The prison guard sensed it too and let them in.

                ‘They’d better have what you’re looking for boss.’ said the shorter one in a commoners Tevinter accent as they headed down the stairs to the cells ‘As nice as it is to be back out in the sun, I’m getting fed up of traipsing that horse and kart around, crawling would be faster.’

                ‘Ah... Yes. I do think they will. I have a good feeling about this place, my friend.’ replied the other in a deep, thick Orlesian accent. ‘Did you know; this town is the birthplace of the Crows? If anywhere is going to have what we are looking for, this is going to be the place.’

                ‘I’ll take your word for it boss.’

The guard unlocked a gate and ushered them through, he seemed to be in a hurry to leave. It sounded like there was an argument going on down there.

                ‘Hello? Hello! Is there anyone in charge out there? I think someone has made a massive mistake!’          

                ‘Can’t you be quiet? It was peaceful before you got dragged down here. Just let me sulk in silence!’

                ‘Look, I _really_ think there has been a mix up! I mean, can anyone _actually_ tell me what I have done wrong? Or is it a crime just to breath in this damn country!’

                ‘Just shut up! No one cares!’

                ‘No, please continue, it was getting pretty dull with just mopey and sleepy for company’

                ‘Whhha?... thurrll…’

                ‘No, it figures actually; if anyone could figure out how to tax air, it _would_ be a bloody Antivan!’

                ‘If you don’t shut up, I _swear_ I will find a lockpick in one of these pockets and use it to sew your stupid mouth shut!’

                ‘If you were smart enough to bring a lockpick with you, you wouldn’t be stuck here sulking in a cell, would you?’

                ‘Jerrrt… Dahh herl…Aaaarth!’

                ‘Ewww! Guards! This guy just threw up on me!’

                ‘HA ha ha ha! You guys are hilarious! You’d pay good money for this in Tevinter.’

                ‘Serves you right, you should have shut up when I told you!’

                ‘Seriously? Guards, come on; this just isn’t right!’

                ‘You _really_ think these are the sort we are after boss?’

The argument stopped at the introduction of a fifth voice. Of the six cells, four were occupied. To the left was a small, lithe, dark haired woman, girl even, with fresh cuts and bruises on her face and all down her chest, slumped against the back wall on the floor of her cell; and an almost starved elven male, wearing more dust than clothes, which were nothing more than torn shorts, through the dust you could just make out heavily scarred skin tightly wrapped around bone, who has a massive grin and was holding the bars tight enough that his knuckles stood out like mountains. To the right was a large, long haired man, swaying in place, mumbling to himself with vomit running down his face and hands; and a tall man, but not as tall as the Orlesian, arms chained high to the ceiling wearing vomit covered clothes that were probably quite nice before the accident.

                ‘It takes a truly great man to admit when he is wrong.’ replied the Orlesian ‘and even though I do think of myself as pretty great; I am not willing to admit being wrong quite just yet.’

                ‘Elf don’t look too bad boss; might want to feed him the horse first though.’

                ‘Ha ha… Yes. That way we both get what we want. Tell me Elf, did I hear you correctly, you said you hail from Tevinter?’

                ‘What’s it to you?’

                ‘Come now, where are your manners? I just may be able to free you from this cell. Would you like that? You would then, of course, need to work for me; but I am sure I cannot be any worse than your previous employer; if that is what you call a slavemaster in Tevinter, anyway.’

                ‘Never said I was a slave’

                ‘And now you insult my intelligence, this is not a good start, young man. Those scars you bare, they are clearly not self-inflicted; it looks to me like someone was either a little too eager to use the whip, or more likely, never had quite enough blood lying around for… experimental reasons? Am I close?’

The elf lost his smile and dropped his gaze to the floor, a lifetime of bad memories suddenly flooded back.

                ‘Yeah, pretty much got it in one’

                ‘I thought as much. Tell me; did you kill your former master?’

                ‘Masters, three of them’ he replied proudly

                ‘And where have you travelled from?’

                ‘Carastes’

                ‘Huh!’ he sounded genuinely impressed ‘See Markus; took out a trio blood-mages, travelled hundreds of miles, crossed borders, all while being perused. I think that is the sort of person we need, do you not agree?’

                 ‘What about _that_ guy?’ Markus replied, pointing at the long haired man.

                ‘Local drunk; probably spends most nights in here, they will release him when he sobers up.’

                ‘So, let me get this straight’ said the man chained to the ceiling ‘you can get us out of here? And all we have to do is agree to work for you for a bit? That’s the first sensible thing I have heard all day! My previous employer has recently, um, terminated my position; and I could do with a new line of work anyway. Where do I sign up?’

                ‘It’s a little more complicated than that’ replied the Orlesian with a warm laugh ‘but that is the heart of it. I do not think you have the… talents we require though.’

                ‘You never know until you try, right? Besides, my resume is quite broad; packed in fact, full of all sorts of stuff. I probably have the talents you need and don’t even know it myself. Did I mention I’m a mage? You know, that’s the kind of thing that people usually forget to ask at job interviews; but it’s something to consider, right?’

                ‘Please, take him away, he is driving me mad’ added the girl ‘In fact, why don’t you just take them all and leave me in peace?’

                ‘Ahh… now you are the anomaly here, my lady. Why would a beautiful young woman like yourself have given up on the world and be stuck in a place like this among all these unsavoury men, huh?’

                ‘So, was that a yes? I didn’t hear him say no…’ the mage asked looking at Markus expectantly

                ‘Maybe it’s where I _belong_ , maybe I _want_ to be here?’

                ‘And there it is again; that feisty, stubborn side. I can feel your hurt; but your potential… Yes, it is decided.’

                ‘You can unlock the cell if you want to, but I’m not going anywhere!’

                ‘So, if she does not want to go, can I take her place?’

                ‘If you keep interrupting we’ll take the drunk instead of you!’ snapped Markus

The Orlesian knelt down next to the girl’s cell.

                ‘My lady, let me tell you something one of my instructors told me once; knocked down ten times, stood up ten times. Do you know what it means?’

                ‘It means posh pricks like you get to try to explain why they are smarter than stupid little girls like me?’

If the comment was meant to hurt, he made no sign that it did.

                ‘No, not that. It is a fighting term, but I find it applies quite well to life too. It means that we are born standing; and when life knocks us on our ass, we stand up again. And when life throws us to the ground, we stand up again; and again, and so on. I think you have hit the ground so hard it feels like you will never get back to your feet. But you cannot ever get knocked down more than times than you stand up. Do you know what happens the eleventh time?’

She was starting to become interested in the story.

                ‘No; what?’

                ‘You kick life’s ass so hard it wishes it did not knock you down the first time.’

She laughed, a little laugh followed by a sniffle; but a laugh.

                ‘So, my lady, tell me; will you honour us with your company?’

She smiled, wiped away the tears from her eyes and nodded.

                ‘What’s the job?’ she asked

                ‘Of course; how rude of me! Please allow me to introduce myself; Robin de ’Champs, Senior Warden of Red Wing Keep, and this is my companion and good friend Warden Markus Lucianus of Tevinter.

                ‘OK, you know what; you _can_ actually take the drunk instead’ added the mage

 

It had taken over an hour to leave the prison. After Robin explained he was using the rite of conscription the guards were happy releasing the elf and mage, but the guard in charge argued that the guard captain had given him specific orders that the girl should hang in the morning; they were making a big deal about it. After having a brief private conversation with Robin, the guard hurriedly unlocked her cell with a worried expression. The mage had delayed things more as he insisted he would not leave without his staff; saying it was the only memento he had of Ferelden. After it was located he seemed disappointed that he actually had no more excuses to stay. After shackling the prisoners to the kart and loading it with provisions, Robin took the driver’s seat and they left through the west gate.

 

                ‘Look, I’m pretty smart, OK; I read books and everything. I’ve read about darkspawn. I really don’t want to fight them. When I heard about the blight in the Korcari Wilds do you know what I did? I jumped out of a three story window, swam, for the first time in my life I hasten to add, swam for half a mile, walked all the way to West Hill, got on a boat and signed my life away to a mercenary captain and got as far away from Ferelden as possible. I was fourteen! All so I didn’t have to ever see a darkspawn. And now, because I got arrested, for no reason by the way, you think I am somehow indebted to you for releasing me?’

                ‘That’s pretty much how it works, yeah’ replied Markus, sitting in the back with the prisoners. They had been traveling for half an hour and Aaron had been complaining the whole time.

                ‘Well… that sucks! You know there is a war going on, right? Templars and mages fighting all the time, I’m just going to get in the way and make things difficult. I can’t help it, I was born a mage; I didn’t choose it. I can’t help it any more than… any more than Ana can help being Antivan!’

                ‘Hey!’ she complained

‘It would be in your best interest just to let me go, really. I mean, their good fighters and all that; and I won’t be able to help out much if they do, _when_ they do, come looking for me. I’m putting you all at risk. Why don’t you just let me go my own way and you get to stay alive, huh?’

Robin pulled the kart to a stop and turned to the back.

                ‘You just might get your wish’ he replied

 

###

 

Price pointed at the small kart heading down the dusty path.

                ‘That’s them, sir. Two Wardens, two prisoners and our mage.’

                ‘Five? A fair fight for a change, huh?’ replied the Knight-Captain

                ‘Right you are, sir. I’ll tell the men to get ready.’

In truth, it wasn’t a fair fight. If it was five armed bandits raiding the kart, maybe; but five veteran knights against two armed men, two beaten up prisoners and a mage that even Henleigh could take one-on-one; this was about as unfair as it could get. They checked their equipment, put on their helmets, and then as the kart came closer they stepped into the open and forced the kart to a stop. Price, Ford and Henleigh blocked the path while Sacoby and Martell took the flank.

                ‘Halt there!’ bellowed Ford ‘I believe you may be harbouring a fugitive from justice. Hand him over and we will let you on your way.’

The driver was facing the back and didn’t turn to face him.

                ‘So, what’s your decision, hmm?’ the driver said to the passengers

                ‘No, darkspawn sounds good, actually’ the mage replied quickly ‘let’s keep to your original plan.’ He raised his shackled hands and shook them.

                ‘You can all stay put; we’ll handle this’ he nodded to the other Warden and they both dismounted the kart. Price looked at the captain, who shrugged.

                ‘But I need my hands to fight…’ whined the mage

                ‘Ahh… good afternoon gentlemen; and ladies, of course. I am sure there is no need for the aggressive demeanour.’ Said the driver, in the most infuriatingly calm and friendly Orlesian manner. ‘Please, let us start a fire, share some wine. I am sure it would be good to share stories with fellow soldiers of Andraste? What do you say?’

                ‘Ugh, a fucking Orlesian; this day just gets better!’ spat Price

                ‘Just here for the apostate.’ replied Ford, giving Price a cold stare

                ‘Ahh… well, I am glad to tell you fine gentleman, and lovely lady, that these fellows traveling with me have been absolved of all prior crimes. They have been conscripted into the Wardens, you see, and I am sure you must understand even the Templar order cannot override the ancient rite. But please, let us talk no more of such trite things; let us break bread together, eh?’

                ‘I don’t think so.’ Replied the Knight-Captain coldly ‘For too long have the Wardens mocked our ways, harboured blood-mages and other maleficar; it has to stop. We are going to make it stop. Now’

                ‘It was a Grey Warden apostate that blew up the chantry and killed Grand-Cleric Elthina! Price shouted angrily.

‘There is no need to resort to such base aggression; it demeans us all…’

                ‘I’ve had enough of this. Men, attack!’ yelled Ford

                ‘Come now…’ the Warden started to reply

                ‘Finally’ Price said as he dashed towards the Warden, reaching for his blades.

He made two steps when a silver blur flashed in front of him and something hard slammed into the side of his helmet, stunning him. He could only watch as the Warden spun round completely with impossible speed and hammered his sword into the other side and the world suddenly went black.

 

###

 

The world seemed to pause in place. The Templars had reached for their weapons but paused mid-way as they stared at the Warden, even the prisoners locked to the kart stared with open mouths. The air around suddenly became cool, still and deadly silent. The Warden held his sword with both hands, hilt by his face, blade and eyes pointing straight towards Knight-Recruit Henleigh. The moment stretched as they watched the limp body of Knight-Lieutenant Price lean to the side and, like a felled tree, fall slowly to the ground. The crash of his armour hitting the hard floor echoed all the way to the abyss and shattered the moment as everyone broke out of the stupor and the rest of the Templars joined the fight.

Henleigh drew her sword and held out her shield as the Warden advanced towards her, blade pointing towards her visor. Before she could brace for the impact of the Wardens sword, he had knocked the shield aside and kicked the sword from her hand. She fell to the ground as his sword found its way between her legs and sliced through the main artery.

Ford roared a challenge as he charged towards the Warden, shield tipped down in the Templar fashion. He had never faced an opponent like this before; and he had survived the Qunari invasion and Kirkwall rebellion. He seemed to be expecting every attack, every block and blow. He even seemed to know where Ford would step next, making the natural flow of battle uncomfortable, and quite frankly frustrating. He finally saw a mistake, the Warden projected a strong high swing and he rose his shield and readied his sword for the counter-attack lunge that should catch the Warden exposed. Except it didn’t come, instead he found himself falling backwards and landed hard on the floor; the air rushed out of his lungs and he struggled for breath. Lying prone on the floor invited the Warden’s sword to the exposed area between chest plate and neck guard. His last moments were not feelings of anger or hatred, but utter bewilderment.

 

Sacoby and Martell tried to flank the shielded Warden at the rear of the kart; Sacoby with his shield tried baiting the Warden to expose himself from behind his own shield, while Martell, the faster of the two tried to use his mobility to get behind him. But with the skill of a Tevinter legionnaire he somehow always kept them both in his field of vision. The three locked to the kart were desperately trying to break free from their bindings. Sacoby saw from the corner of his eye a great sword fly from in front of the kart and impale Martell in the chest, launching him back several meters. That was all the distraction the shielded Warden needed and in move that looked like it had been drilled into him a thousand times knocked both the Templars shield and sword aside and lunged his sword into the Templars abdomen and then up into his chest. He cursed silently before the life drained from his eyes. Robin walked up to the Templar who has his sword embedded in his chest, gave it a sharp twist, and then pulled it out.

                ‘I am sorry, you stubborn bastards’ He said sadly to the dying man as he sheathed his sword. ‘It gives me no pleasure ending the lives of men from such a noble order, no matter how misguided you may have become. Come Markus; we have work to do.’

 

The rest of the ride was in complete silence, even Aaron decided it was probably wise not to complain anymore. Markus took the driver’s seat and Robin sat in the back, polishing his sword, deep in thought. It was Robin that broke the silence.

                ‘I am sorry you had to witness that.’ He said sadly ‘Here, let me get those chains.’ He started removing the locks, unafraid of any possible resistance. No one did.

                ‘I have to admit’ said the elf, who introduced himself as Tiero ‘I have never see someone fight like that before, made them look like children armed with sticks’

                ‘Yeah’ added Ana ‘where did you learn to fight like that?’

                ‘Ahh… well, you see; before I became a Warden, I was a Chevalier. While I was not wealthy enough to afford a personal instructor, as is the fashion, of course; I was able through my family ties to secure additional combat training through the Chantry. I do not drink lyrium, of course, I am not an ordained brother or anything like that, and I cannot disrupt spells; but I did train under some of the finest swordsmen of the order in Orlais. I would prefer not to have fought them, I still feel kinship with the Tempars; but my duty is to the Wardens now, not with the order, not with Orlais.’

                ‘So, are you saying that if any more Templars come after me,’ chimed in Aaron ‘you will take them out too; as long as I promise to fight darkspawn for you?’

                ‘As I will protect anyone under my charge, on my honour. It will be getting dark soon, come now; help me set up camp.’

 

Before long the sun had finally gone down and the fires were set. The three former prisoners sat in silence around the fire while the Wardens gently talked amongst themselves. Once they had shared a meal and the Wardens conversation ended, Tiero decided to spark up some conversation and coughed to get their attention. All heads turned his way.

                ‘What’s it like being a Warden then? How did you guys become Wardens in the first place?’

                ‘Ahh… well.’ Replied Robin, hesitantly ‘The Wardens are a secretive order, we don’t really talk about it much; you will discover what it is like in time. As to how we became Wardens; each Warden has their own reason. What you need to realise is that when you take the oath, you are no longer the person you were before; it is like you are born again, whoever you were before no longer matters. Many wardens will not want to explain why they joined; some may have done things in the past that they would rather not be reminded about or be ashamed about admitting, for some the pain of the past may still be too sore’ he looked at Ana as he said that ‘while others may want to share their story, releasing them from who they once used to be, while others think their story is one that should be told, whether for entertainment or as a lesson that should be learned. Share your story if you want, but do not feel you need to if you’re not ready.’ They digested this for a moment.

                ‘As for me’ Robin continued ‘sure, I will tell you my story. As you know, I was a Chevalier in Orlais and had friends amongst the Templars, especially with the recruits around my own age as we sparred together regularly. My family is from just north of Ghislain and sometimes I visited the circle of magi there. My father remarried when I was very young and I had a half-brother; a jealous and unlikable brat, but harmless, or so I thought. One time on visiting the circle I meet a young and beautiful enchanter called Patrice that has just passed her harrowing; we immediately hit it off. It was scandalous, of course, but our romance made the raunchiest of novels look like dull Chantry tomes in comparison. It did not go unnoticed, but we did not care; we were young and thought we could take on the world. What I did not realise was that one of the Templars I had become close to had long had strong feelings towards me; I had not realised I had rebuked her, but she became bitter with envy and rage. She plotted with my half-brother and, I do not know how, but somehow persuaded the circle that Patrice was practicing blood magic while my half-brother told my father of the relationship. So while I was being lectured to end the relationship or cease my claim to my father’s title, Patrice was made tranquil.’

                ‘That’s horrible!’ gasped Ana

                ‘After I stormed out of my father’s house, I found the bitter woman waiting for me, gloating about what had happened and how it was my fault. My passions were still high from the argument with my father and when I heard Patrice’s fate I lost control; I struck her down where she stood. There were witnesses, of course, so I ran. The woman I loved had been turned into a mindless tool so I had nothing to stay for. I did not know where to go; all I knew was how to fight and command men in battle. I thought of fleeing to Nevara or Ferelden; but tensions were high at the time between both those countries and Orlais and I could not face fighting my own countrymen if it came to war. Now, this was just two years after the battle of Denerim; stories of the bravery of the hero of Ferelden and the honour of the Grey Wardens were still the talk of the time, so I fled north to the Anderfels; and now I am a Grey Warden.’

                ‘Well, my story is not nearly as fancy’ added Tiero ‘I was used as a refillable blood tap in an underground blood-mage hideout. One day they got complacent so I managed to kill three of them before running for my life. I thought about smuggling myself on a boat headed for Seheron; but the Qun doesn’t sound any better than being a slave in Tevinter so I thought I would try my luck in Antiva. Shame really, I was getting used to a bit of freedom. Oh well, it was good while it lasted, I guess.’

Markus shook his head when the others turned his way.

Ana and Aaron looked at each other, waiting to see who would volunteer first. Once Ana raised her eyebrow Aaron knew he had lost.

                ‘Right, where do I start? This story is ten years in the making. So, I’m from the circle in Ferelden. Once survivors came back from the battle of Ostagar and explained that the blight was about to overrun Ferelden, a few of my friends and I decided to start packing and come up with a way of escaping. Well, things went from bad to worst very quickly as the senior enchanters had a fight and demons started taking over the circle. You know that mage that started the Kirkwall rebellion? Well I knew him, he had a reputation for escaping the circle and getting caught; and I knew some of the ways he had used to escaped. There is a window you can reach if you climb on a cupboard and there are no rocks beneath, just a drop straight into deep, cold water. It’s usually watched by a Templar, ever since Anders escaped that way anyway; and they would normally find you quite quickly once they discovered you went missing; phylacteries are surprisingly accurate. But as everything was all going to crap no Templars noticed and we managed to escape. I signed up with a mercenary company before half of Ferelden started migrating north too. Over the years the other mages either left or were killed. Things started to change after the Kirkwall rebellion; the others started distancing themselves from the mages in the company. It was just me and Diathi, a Dalish second who left his clan after his youngest daughter started showing signs of being a mage. One day our captain takes a job on this ship, the “Pride of Salle” and’

                ‘The “Pride of Salle”?’ interrupted Ana, throwing her drink to the ground and jumping to her feet ‘Are you kidding me? You work for Captain Del’toro?’

                ‘What? No! I work for Captain Tynewood. Well, worked for anyway; before she sold us out to the Templars, and maybe the guard too, I don’t know. I guess she might work for him, as a client or something? I never figured out how it worked. Captain Del’toro is some merchant prince or something, I don’t think he has ever spend a day at sea in his life, lives in Treviso and probably never even been outside of Antiva. I hear he prefers to be called captain as all he wants is a title, and no one will take seriously a merchant prince who demands to be called “your majesty”.’

                ‘Well’ said Ana as she sat back down ‘Del’toro set me up; and he was working with the captain of the guard. Wouldn’t be surprised if he was the one that sold you out too, or got your captain to; he’s a right sneaky bastard.’ 

                ‘Are you saying you’re both here for the same reason? Both set up by the same person? Same time and place and everything?’ asked Markus excitedly ‘No way! Haven’t heard that before, have you boss?’

                ‘Can’t say I have, my friend.’ replied Robin ‘It’s getting late, we should get some rest; we have a long way to go before we reach Red Wing keep.’

               

###

 

Price woke up feeling like the whole world was pressing up against his skull. As he reached for his head he felt he still had his helmet on and the slight movement sent pangs of pain on both sides. He screamed as he slowly forced the thing off, it felt like it was clamped into place and it cut into his bruised skull with every movement. After an agonising age he finally removed it and threw away the mangled thing and took a moment to catch his breath as he held his battered head. The moon illuminated the body of Henleigh in front of him. He jumped up and cursed, then tripped over the body of Ford. He crawled up to his captain and removed his helmet. He needn’t have bothered. He instantly saw the gaping wound in his throat and the blood soaked chest plate, even in the dark. He still couldn’t quite help but hope.

                ‘Sir?’ he asked helplessly, spittle forming around his mouth

‘Don’t be dead, sir.’ He told his friend as he clutched at the stained armour. He looked around him and saw the bodies of the other two. They had all been dumped unceremoniously in a ditch by the side of the road. They all had wounds as bad or worse than the captain. He lowered his head to Fords lifeless chest and cried. His mind started racing, and through the fog of despair and the pain in his head he tried to remember the events that lead him here. And then he remembered. He realised he didn’t care about the Mage-Templar war anymore. He didn’t care about renegade Templars or demons or blood-mages or Qunari. He didn’t even care about Kirkwall. All he cared about was his dead friends; and the ones responsible for their deaths.

                ‘They fucking killed you sir’ he announced to his friend ‘They killed all of you.’

Price had found a new purpose; a new enemy. He was going to find those who had killed his friends. They had made an enemy of him. He was now an enemy of the Grey Wardens.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Red Wing Keep stood out like a Fereldan at an Orlesian cocktail party; its huge black metal reinforced walls set against the south-easterly borders of the Arlathan Forrest could not be further opposed.  Upon the walls were perched the seven great red dragons that gave the place its name; the ages had worn and countless sieges had beaten the once great statues to a shadow of their former glory, but they still awed all those that saw them for the first time. The gates opened as they approached.

                ‘I assumed it would be griffons’ mumbled Aaron

                ‘I know exactly what you mean, I thought the same too first time I arrived’ replied Robin

                ‘Why?’ asked Ana, to her it was obvious that a Tevinter fortress on the Tevinter / Antiva border would be named after the Empires favourite beast.

                ‘Well, in the south its “Wardens this” or “Griffins that” said Aaron ‘you think of a wing, it’s attached to a griffin. That or something to with a Warden motto; “Vigil’s Keep”, “Death and Sacrifice” blah blah… ’

                ‘Do you not get dragons down south?’ Ana Robin, ignoring Aaron’s rambling

                ‘Oh yes, dragons get everywhere.’ Replied Robin ‘I think Griffons come from Seheron actually so it’s not a north verses south thing.’

                ‘Magisters just love dragons, that’s all it is.’ Added Tiero ‘Mages I knew, well… killed, only ever talked about four things: magic, politics, women and dragons. I think they still worship them; but the idiots seemed to worship a different woman every week too, so what do I know.’

                ‘It’s a deeproads entrance to an ancient trading post.’ Added Markus ‘The ancients wanted the dwarves that came up to trade to see the might of the Imperium; hence why there is one statue for each old god. It probably served as a shrine too. It was during the first blight that they turned it into a fortress; been ours ever since.’

                ‘We are technically tenants’ continued Robin ‘the land belongs to a Magister Lancarius, he never visits though. The place is too large for just a hundred Wardens so we share it with the Imperium border patrol. You know, it has played a key part in every blight; until the one in Ferelden that is.’

                ‘Which still does not count if you ask me’ said Markus

 

The kart trundled into a great open courtyard with stables, forges, training grounds; everything for a large fortification to operate. There did not seem to be a clear divide between what part was for the Imperium and what belonged to the Wardens. A welcome party awaited the kart and at its head stood a stocky dwarf resting on a great double bearded axe. Robin jumped from the kart and gave the dwarf a great handshake and clap on the back.

                ‘A moment please, Robbie’ the dwarf said and gestured towards one of the doors beneath a tall spire.

                ‘Of course. Markus, make sure that horse gets some water and a brush down. I’ll catch up with you in the mess hall’

                ‘But she hasn’t even worked up a sweat boss’ Markus moaned as Robin and the dwarf entered the spire. He then turned to the three recruits ‘OK you lot, first job; find someone else to take care of this horse and I’ll give you the tour.’

 

###

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry it's not finished. -Ads


End file.
